


One More Chance XIX

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Vajarra receives grim news about her friend.





	One More Chance XIX

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 30, 2008

Vajarra knew last night had been a bad idea, especially now, in the bright and embarrassing light of morning. It was some consolation that Malcos was visibly shaken as well, and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He had moved on, had gone on with his life as he’d told her to, and she’d probably set him back. But he’d made the long, cold night pass more easily and she was grateful for the comfort — and grateful that he hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. In fact, he was really a very nice fellow, and she couldn’t understand why Vassanta had treated him that way. He certainly didn’t deserve it, and she knew that he was thinking of her sister, even as he held her. That didn’t bother her; surely he knew that he was a stand-in for Varul as well.

Malcos had left the inn to go, to where she didn’t know. She’d asked what he was doing here last night, but he was vague. Whatever it was, Vajarra was sure that she didn’t need to know about it. The bells on the docks had called nearly everyone to work, and though it was still early, the tavern was nearly empty save for the unsettling-looking bartender. Placing her coins on the counter, Vajarra asked for a mug of moonberry juice and one of the sweet rolls from the kitchen. Though the fire was out, she sat near it, alone at the long table. It was then she noticed the man in the corner, huddled over his mugs. He was a draenei, and a large one, his horns and face marred by more scars than were typical of his age. And he was watching her.

She glanced uncertainly at the bartender, who was leaning against the kegs. If she noticed the strange man, she didn’t appear very concerned. Vajarra hurried to finish her breakfast; if she hadn’t been so ravenously hungry she would have just left it behind. He was still staring, and she could see now that he had been drinking a great deal — he must have had a very early start. It didn’t seem like the lecherous stare of a drunk, though, his heavy brow was furrowed as if he was trying to remember something. Either way, Vajarra wished to leave as soon as possible, and she drained the last of her moonberry juice in a long gulp. She hurried toward the door of the tavern, trying to escape from his curious gaze.

“Your elf’s dead,” the draenei said, as casually as one might mention the weather. Vajarra couldn’t help but halt, turning back to look at him with a brow arched. “I killed him.”

“He’s not dead. I just saw him leave,” Vajarra protested, and he’s not my elf. She felt foolish for even engaging the obviously drunk man in conversation. It was pointless to even argue with him, and she shook her head, starting for the door again. So why could she feel fear sneaking its tendrils around her heart?

The man gave a harsh snort. “Not that one,” he said, fixing his bleary gaze upon her. “In the Ghostlands.”

It took Vajarra a moment to remember where she had heard that name, and when she did, the fear seized her, catching in her throat. “You’re lying.”

“Your sister,” he croaked, scratching at his tendrils. His armor looked as if he’d been traveling through the swamp, his hooves were crusted with dried mud. “She paid me to do it.” She simply stared at him. “If you don’t believe me, ask to see her ring,” he said, making a chopping motion on his wrist with his other hand.

There had to be a mistake, Vajarra assured herself as she ran out onto the stone road, gripping her stone in her trembling hands. She’d find Vassanta and she’d explain everything, it was all a big misunderstanding. She simply couldn’t believe that Istahn was dead, and even more outrageous, that Vassanta had been responsible. The stone glowed with green light, and Vajarra held very still, squinting as the stone’s magic swirled around her, and she found herself in her quarters in the temple. She ran out onto the terrace toward the barracks, hoping that Vassanta hadn’t yet left for the morning.

She hadn’t, in fact when her sister answered the door it was obvious that she’d still been in bed when Vajarra knocked frantically. Her new male was there too, Vajarra could hear him sleepily asking who was there. “I’m kind of busy,” Vassanta said, but her brows drew together in concern when she saw Vajarra’s expression.

Vajarra beckoned her out into the hallway, and Vassanta closed the door behind her. “Well, what’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

She had a fierce and sudden urge to slap her. Had she always been this callous? But Vajarra should at least give her a chance to explain. “Did you kill him?” Vajarra would not normally be so blunt, but she had to know.

Vassanta’s brows went up, and Vajarra’s heart plummeted. She didn’t even have to hear the answer, she knew from the expression of feigned surprise that it was true. “Kill who? I haven’t even left–”

“How could you?” Vajarra shouted, her hands clenching into useless fists. “How could you do that?! He belonged to the Light! He was my FRIEND!” It wasn’t like Vajarra to shout, but she couldn’t help herself, and this time it was she who drew curious looks from the guards.

Vassanta scowled. “You have no idea what he did, Vajarra. And he was using you, he only wanted to get back at me. And you’re too naive to see it.”

She was shaking, sure that her legs would give out beneath her, and she sat down heavily on a bench. “Let me see it,” Vajarra said, staring back at Vassanta. “His ring. I want to see if it’s true.”

Vassanta sighed impatiently. “Just a second.” Vajarra watched as she went back into her quarters, staring blankly at the door. It couldn’t really be true, could it? Maybe it was another elf, there was probably just a mistake. For a time, Vajarra thought that she might not come back at all, but a few moments later she emerged and dropped the ring into her hand.

It was his. She recognized the seal on the signet, a rising sun, its rays radiating out from the center, a sword held aloft vertically in the center. She felt numb, unable to speak or move. She wanted to ask if she could have it, but Vassanta reached out and took it back. “This,” Vassanta said, her hand curling around it protectively. “This means I’m free.”

Vajarra didn’t understand, none of it. Why Vassanta would do such a thing, why she didn’t tell her, why she’d allowed her to become friends with him and why, most of all, had the naaru permitted it. But she could ask none of those things, the words couldn’t find their way to her lips. She simply sat, staring in stunned disbelief, until Vassanta went back inside. She could hear her voice there, distantly, and the male’s voice too. Her life was going on, like usual, while Istahn lay cold and dead somewhere. And she didn’t even care, didn’t feel a stab of guilt at what she had done. How could this person even be her sister?

She stood slowly, her hooves feeling as if they belonged to someone else. From the terrace she could see A’dal’s brilliant rays in the chamber below.  _Why?_  she wanted to ask.  _How could you let this happen?_  Though she was close to them, she was only a person and she could never hope to understand the naaru’s will, but it was so unfair. Istahn had redeemed himself, had offered himself to them and they allowed this to happen? To be struck down in such a wretched manner? She was surprised and ashamed of the anger she felt toward them. She could only hope that the reason would show itself in time.


End file.
